King of Stars (The Next Generation #2)

35. Stella

Chapter 35

Stella

T he night before, after Matteo had gotten back from dealing with the wicked stepsisters, he told me we would be leaving for our honeymoon sooner than expected. For some reason, I kept thinking about the time we set aside for the bathroom remodel and a few other things—like our patio furniture being delivered. I’d picked out a light green fabric to mimic outside and bring it inside the covered space, the cushions black and white, the hardware wrought iron. We had an outdoor stone fireplace, as tall as the castello , to remodel.

When I brought that up to Matteo, he’d said, “We’ve talked to the designers. I have men who can handle that here.”

That was the first time we hadn’t had our hands on something that was going in our home. It made me feel uneasy, like the castello was going to get mad that we allowed strangers inside to do work we should have been doing.

Matteo had run his knuckle down my face. “You want to stay?”

I’d shrugged. “I don’t know. I haven’t truly been out in the real world yet. You tell me.”

“Home is wherever we are together,” he’d said. “You’ll be safe with me.”

His words had taken me out of my own head and brought me to a safe zone. He was right. No matter where I went in the world, if he was with me, I’d be safe.

I thought about this as I finished packing. Then last night came back to me, after Matteo had left and Scarlett had kept me company.

She was good company, and I could count on her to give me backstories when I needed them. Like, who was Lev, who did he belong to, and who was the bitch with him that wouldn’t stop giving my husband the gooey eyes? And calling them “gooey eyes” was something, since the rest of her seemed to be made of stone.

Scarlett had smiled when I’d told her that.

“I met Lev when he was a boy and I was just a girl. I’d danced for his grandfather in Russia. My grandmother, Maja, knew him. My grandmother knew a lot of people.” She went on to tell me how her grandmother was one of the ballet’s finest back in the day—and a spy . Maja’s “talent” had caused a lot of trouble for her over the years, as it did for Scarlett.

Maybe it was foolish, but after she’d told me stories of how dancing had led them all down dark roads, I didn’t feel so alone.

When she told me another one of Lev’s women had gone after her husband, I blurted, “See! How cheeky is that?”

“Very.”

Then the conversation somehow landed on her ability to feel things most people couldn’t.

“How does it feel?” I’d asked. “I mean, if you don’t mind me asking. To know all that stuff about people and sometimes feel powerless to stop it?”

She tucked her legs underneath her, sipping on her tea. She was such a slight and graceful woman. Her hair was auburn, touched by grey, but when the light would hit it, red and silver sparks seemed to brighten the darkness. Her eyes were such a beautiful green. They popped against her fair skin and dark eyebrows. She was stunning, and if anyone would have asked me what I imagined a ballerina to look like, I would have said Scarlett Rose Fausti. And there was no doubt she’d given birth to such a force of a man.

My husband.

She sighed. “It’s always been hard for me to put into words what this…extra sense I have feels like. Sometimes it feels like I’m looking inside of a well at reflections, judging moods based on facial expressions. Other times, the worst times, it feels like I’m grasping to find a wire that has been tangled with other wires, and if I pull at it, will something detonate, or will something change that’s not supposed to be changed? Like…being late for a meeting, but being angry about it, when if I would have left at the time I was supposed to, maybe I would have died in a car crash. That happened to my brother. I warned him about leaving, but he didn’t listen to me. It’s also understanding motives even when I don’t want to. Like why someone would be cruel to someone else.”

“Like why those two women, the wicked witch’s daughters, were cruel to me over the years. I think I’d hate to know why, because then it might lessen my anger, which would steal something from me. Like my right to be hurt.”

“Yes, bebe , that’s exactly what I mean.”

“So, people have done cruel things to you, and you forgave them because you understood why?” I asked. “Is that why you don’t send Rosaria packing?”

“Here.” She handed me a cookie. “I don’t want to eat them alone.”

“Okay,” I said, taking a bite.

“Yes, people have done things to me, and despite my hurt feelings, I understood the drive behind the behavior, whether I really wanted to or not. Sometimes it’s like watching a wild animal do what it does, hating that I’m watching a stronger species eat another for dinner, but understanding that, for that wild animal to survive, it’s programmed to do what it does.”

“Yeah,” I’d said. “But…isn’t our conscience what separates us from beasts?”

“You’ve been talking to Uncle Tito.” She took a small bite of cookie and smiled at me.

I returned it. “I like talking to him. I like talking to anyone who challenges me to think. After so many years in solitary confinement, even basic conversation feels so good.”

She leaned over, took my hand, and squeezed, then sat back. “That is what separates us, but when someone is taught a certain way and can’t see past their own world, they don’t think the behavior is wrong. Most of the time, the behavior is justified in their eyes.”

“Rosaria?”

“Ah,” she sighed. “Exactly. Except, neither of her parents have the, er, drive she does, but she’s always had money and status. She married Rocco thinking he would be the next King of Italy, and he will be, but since Matteo is first in line to rule after Rocco, instead of Massimo, their line will only be temporary. That’s not what she wants. She wants her name tied to this family even after she’s gone—through a son. Her blood mixed with Rocco’s.”

“I don’t understand it.”

And I still didn’t, but maybe being out in the world would give me some perspective on how the world viewed this family, not just from the inside. Maybe that was what Rosaria was addicted to? Status? I guess that would fit in with money and power, though.

I sighed, pushing those thoughts aside when Matteo asked me, “Ready, baby?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.”

“You guess.”

I nodded, and he just stared at me. Then he hauled me off my feet, taking a seat on our bed, and cradled me to his chest.

“You’ll be with me.” His voice was rough.

“I know,” I whispered.

“I’m not going to let anyone, or anything, hurt you, if it’s in my power.”

“I know that too.”

We sat there for a second, quiet settling around us.

“Tell me,” he whispered.

“After…after our honeymoon, I want to go back to Louisiana. I want to find…my mom. I want the things you found from her.”

He closed his eyes, leaned in, and set his lips on my forehead. He said something in soft Italian and then repeated his vows. “All that I am I give to you. All that is mine is yours.”

I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him closer, letting my heart beat against his. Again, he’d stolen my words, my breath, and the only thing I had to speak for me was my heart. To say these simple words to his: I understand why you chose to remind me of one of your vows.

All that is mine is yours.

He’d meant his strength in this situation.

He knew I was going to need it.

It seemed like the entire family saw us off. Mariano and Marciano would meet us in Paris, our first stop, but everyone else who was central to the family was staying behind. After France, we would head back to Italy to go to Sicily. Mia and Saverio, their two twin boys, and Graziana would be there. They were going to stay at Mac and Mari’s place in Modica for the rest of the summer.

Matteo had the rest of our itinerary, but each designation kept slipping my mind. I was too caught up in Paris to think of much else after. I was both excited and terrified to go back. A rush of excitement would overtake me when I thought of seeing it as a free woman, when I thought of visiting all the places me and mom had been to. I was terrified because I knew it was taking a Fausti army to pull the trip off, and how dangerous it could be. But Matteo assured me Saverio was extremely competent at what he did, and all security measures had been put into place. Saverio was working remotely so he could be close to Mia and their three kids.

Matteo drove us away with a honk of his horn, and I waved out the window as all the ladies waved us goodbye. It felt like a nice thing to do. It was like they were seeing me off into a new world with the best of luck.

I looked at Matteo, and he looked at me. I took a deep breath and nodded. He hit the gas of the fast car, and we sped toward the airport. Armando and Placido arrived before us and saw us to the plane. It wasn’t Augusto Aurelius who would be piloting the plane, but his father, Naz. Matteo had mentioned that Augusto had gone to America for a while.

I nudged Matteo as we arrived at the steps of the private plane. “What’s wrong with Placido?” I whispered. “Is he sick?”

He wasn’t walking straight, and his hair was barely combed. He was—as they all were—usually in impeccable shape, down to the hair. He wore dark glasses, but I could tell by the furrow of his brows that he was squinting at the bright light, even with the tint of his lenses. Maybe he’d had too much to drink?

Damn. I wasn’t sure if that was allowed. Maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned it? But a sly grin came across Matteo’s face, and it made me turn to him.

“What?” I asked.

He could barely keep a straight face. “That woman from last night.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “The ice queen.”

Matteo nodded. “That’s her.”

“What about her?”

“She demanded payment.”

We stared at each other, then my mouth popped open with understanding.

“Payment,” I repeated. “The currency being male flesh?”

“Yeah.”

“You…you…you…” I stuttered, unable to even finish at first. “You offered Placido up to her!”

Matteo quieted me by leaning in and kissing me. “Shh, baby,” he said, laughing against my lips. “The screws in his head might be a little loose today.”

“Seriously. Why couldn’t anyone say no to her? Is she that much of a princess? And what did she want payment for? Standing around?!” I glanced at poor Placido, who groaned as he walked up the stairs. “This is so fucked up. I told you she was trouble! She wanted you so—” Pieces started to click into place, changing the direction of my tirade. “That’s it! She wanted you, and since you said you were off the market, you had to offer her a tribute!”

Matteo exploded with laughter. I hit his chest. He grabbed my hand and kissed it.

“Come,” he said, a smile lingering on his face. “You are about to be inducted into a club.”

I had no idea what he’d meant, but on the short ride over, I figured it out. I was a mile-high member, Matteo Fausti as my sponsor. He inducted me so good, I felt like Placido as my husband helped me down the steps of the plane and onto French ground.

Then, in a rush of men and cars, we were in Paris, the city of light. And my husband could speak better French than most of the Parisians, it seemed. He was fluent in so many languages, it was almost unbelievable.

“Show off,” I said to him the next day when he ordered us breakfast in French at a little bistro I’d noticed on the drive to our rented apartment.

Saverio and Matteo had rented Chloe’s old apartment and kept it under her name. I could see the Eiffel Tower from her balcony, and the cityscape of Paris. It took hours to get me inside after I’d found it. I loved the view and, despite what had happened to me there, the city.

He lifted my hand and kissed it. “Tell me, are you impressed, la mia stella ?”

“Impressed enough to be turned on? Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

At the rate we were going, we’d never leave the apartment, but Matteo said it was on my bucket list to explore the city, so that was what we did. We explored on foot and by car; we visited museums and ate at fancy French restaurants (some not so fancy). I even asked him to take me to Pigalle. We drove it by car, not to tempt fate too much. The Nemours had a few places there. We walked along the Seine, my arm in his, with gelati we got from an Italian shop. Matteo told me stories as we walked.

One, though, stood out the most.

How his dad had sent his mom to Paris to dance while he left for the Coast Guard.

I stopped walking, and so did he.

“Brando left Scarlett?” I asked, the unhinged tone of my voice not escaping either of us. Then I remembered…the break she mentioned the morning she’d told me about losing their first Matteo.

Matteo leaned in and kissed the tart raspberry flavor from my lips. “Yeah, he did. But—” he pointed to his chest “—Matteo vows not to leave Stella.”

“That…” I had to catch my breath from the way he’d licked it off my lips, and the fact that, once upon a time, his dad had left his mom. “That must have been so hard for her.”

“It’s all a part of their story.” He shrugged. “We all have them.”

Yeah, but Scarlett without Brando, and Brando without Scarlett, made no sense. It was like, if they didn’t exist together in the world somewhere, the entire world wouldn’t make sense. It was crazy enough to make me shake my head. It would be like looking up at a sky without stars. I would know that things were missing, and it would haunt me to know that whatever should be there wasn’t. Whatever that “whatever” was.

“He’s not a man to harbor regrets.” Matteo’s voice was suddenly thick, and he looked away from me. “He regrets that decision down to the marrow of his bones.”

“You learned from him?” I asked.

“His mistakes?” He thought about that for a second. “Yeah, I did, the rare ones he made, but I never thought I’d stand where he does when it comes to one half of…the heart not being able to exist without the other. I get it now.”

His mood was starting to change, and when his mood started to darken, it seemed like the entire world did. Or my world did. It was like a black cloud hung over my head. I held his hand tighter, changing the subject. I showed him a picture Mia had sent me of Graziana in a little onesie I’d sent over. It said, I love my aunt. Graziana didn’t have many aunts, so I felt special wanting to spoil her, and Matteo loved it. We sent the boys wooden puzzles that were age appropriate.

Talking about Graziana and the twins seemed to bring the sun out again, but further down the river, Matteo stopped me again.

“What?” I asked, taking another lick of my gelato.

“I’m sorry mamma hurt the way she did, but somehow, it seems like her hurt has turned into a reward for me. Your love. I feel it, la mia stella . The centuries it took to bring us together. The footsteps and the path. It all led me to you.”

I cleared my throat. “ Na muri scrivutu ne stiddi. Un amore scritto nelle stelle. Did I pronounce it all okay?” It was hard enough to learn one language, but Matteo’s family members were teaching me Sicilian too. The saying, though, was so profound, so us , that I wished I could tattoo it on my heart. I touched the spot where Matteo had it on his chest.

“My heart understands,” he said, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.

We both stilled a second and then laughed, leaning into each other. I might have had a little more work to do with foreign languages. But by the time our visit to Paris was nearing the end, I found that I’d picked up on some French. Maybe there was still hope for me after all.

The night before we left for Sicily, I finished doing my makeup and looked myself in the eye through the mirror, repeating some of the words I’d learned along the way. Words I had refused to learn when the language was forced on me.

Back then, it was the only control I had in my life.

“How sad,” I whispered to myself, dropping my lip liner in a bag on the counter.

My husband appeared behind me, setting his arms around my waist. We were a sight that night. Him in a tux and me in a sequined, strapless white dress. He was taking me to Palais Garnier for the big finale of the last leg of our Paris honeymoon. The opera house had already been rented out for our wedding, but tonight, someone important was going to speak to us after the ballet, to make sure all was good with our plans. I got the impression Scarlett Fausti, and her grandmother, Maja, were big figures there, and it was important to keep it that way. It was risky as all get out, but I was determined not to be afraid.

“Sad,” Matteo whispered against my shoulder, his lips pressed to my skin, his eyes up and on me. “There’s nothing fucking sad about you or this dress. You are the most beautiful woman in the world to me . Always.”

“I know.” I closed my eyes and breathed out. “I was just thinking…comparing who I used to be to the woman I am now.”

“Free,” he said, his warm breath fanning over my bare shoulders. “With me.”

“Yeah,” I breathed out. “Free. With you. Always.”

I turned in his arms, running my hands up and down his tuxedo. I held on to the lapels and looked him in the eye. “This trip…has meant so much to me. I was too young to really have a talk with my mom about it, but I think…I mean, she would have loved you so much. Loved how you love me. So…completely. Like these rings on our fingers. A circle that never ends.”

My words had moved him; I could tell by the look in his eyes. For a man who was ruthless, his romantic side had come as a surprise. But living around Italian men, I noticed that about most of them. They were not afraid of their feelings or expressing how passionate they were about the woman they loved.

This man. My husband.

He was one of them, and I hoped men like him always existed.

He spoke his next words in Italian first, then repeated them in English, “It is the honor of my life, my wife.”

Setting me on the counter, he inched the skirt of my dress up until it was bunched at my hips. His hands were steady on my body as I reached down and rubbed my hand up and down his hard cock. He breathed out, and I breathed in. And as soon as he was free, he slid inside of me, our eyes locked.

He spoke to me in Italian, his words slow and so romantic sounding. I could barely keep my eyes open as he made me feel so good, I started to cry. He was moving slow, but deep, and he kept hitting that spot inside of me that made me float up to the stars like I was made of helium.

As my body bowed to his, I bit his chest, whimpering into his skin. He moved harder, faster, and came with a growl that turned me on again. I was always so sensitive after, and with just a touch, he could bring me back to float with the stars again.

He knew how important this night was to me, though, and instead of kissing me, touching me, turning me on more than I already was, he cleaned us up and helped me off the counter. He smoothed my dress down, then his suit. I checked my makeup, but besides a little powder and lipstick, he’d left me better than he’d found me.

I was glowing.

He offered me his arm, but I took his hand. My soul and his just as entangled as our fingers.

After our night out, I seemed to be pulling from my husband’s strength, as tangled as ever. I had walked on grounds that I had never been free enough to walk on without someone directing my steps before. It sent a rush of power through me, and as we prepared to leave for Sicily, I breathed easier knowing that as long as my husband was beside me, I could conquer all fears and be the queen of my own life.